


Human Touch

by makesomelove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2668610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesomelove/pseuds/makesomelove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam cuddles people for money. Zayn is a client.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of my ZIAM NOVEMBER celebrations and was a bit too long to just post on tumblr for me. Thanks for celebrating with me. REMEMBER REMEMBER ZIAM NOVEMBER. 
> 
> *Tiny, tiny, brief mention of self-harm. No self-harm takes place, past or present, only a mention of it being read about in a learning context.

The squeak in the floorboards and the telltale sign of feet shuffling on the other side of the door make Liam stay. Whoever is making him wait is trying very hard to be quiet, like Liam is the one coming home and is about to find an intruder. Liam knocked about four minutes ago, which, to be fair, isn’t the longest he’s ever had to wait. Some people get nervous about actually going through with something like this and have to build themselves up when the time comes. Others just back out entirely and never answer. 

Liam gives everyone a fifteen minute window to decide whether or not to let him in. He gets to keep their deposit either way, so he doesn't care if they do or not, since the money he wasted on gas driving to the locations is already covered. Now he politely stands with his bag slung over his shoulder and tries to look as disarming as possible, in case he’s being looked at through a peep hole or security camera or something. 

The tumblers in the lock click and the door opens so quickly that the breeze it fans hits Liam’s head and musses his hair. 

A disheveled - no, an artfully, purposefully disheveled man is the one who answers Liam’s knock. He’s unshaven in a sculpted way, his beanie laid on his head just so. He scratches his beard, looks at Liam, looks at the floor, back at Liam. 

"Hi, I’m Liam," Liam says. This one is obviously nervous, so Liam decides to be familiar right off the bat. "You’re Zayn, right?" 

"Yeah," Zayn says. "Come in." 

Zayn backs up far enough so there’d be no chance of them touching even if they were shoved towards each other by force. Liam goes inside. It’s obvious at first glance that Zayn lives alone, and that he’s probably alone most of the time. The flat is dimly lit and the shades are all drawn tight, so there’d be no way of telling what time of day it is just by looking around. Paper debris and empty cans litter the floor, while things oddly out of place fill in the rest for Liam - a stained shirt hanging wetly from the sink in the small kitchen, apple cores on the windowsill, stack of unopened mail on top of the fridge, ash tray on the floor next to the sofa and a tower of takeaway containers. Nothing on the walls. Nothing personal except the disasters Zayn’s created himself. This is the home of a lonely person. 

Liam is grateful Zayn seems to want to stay away from him for now. He reaches into his bag to get out the forms he printed on the way here. When he first started doing this for a living, he’d show up to clients’ homes with nothing but himself. If something weird happened, he’d just have to forget about it and move on, having no legal basis to do anything. Now he’s got a simple but very legal contract that he brings for people to sign, basically stating what services he provides and that he has the right to terminate the agreement if the client tries to get something more out of him than what was agreed upon. It’s something he’s worded carefully and put together over the course of a couple years as new things arise, for his safety and the safety of his clients. Some people don’t like it and refuse to sign. Liam gets to keep their deposits, too. 

"Have you got a pen?" Liam says. 

Zayn has one ready in his pocket. Liam notices the ink stains on his fingertips, then the sketches scattered around the sofa, some balled up and tossed aside, but others laid neatly out. Zayn signs after reading the form over thoroughly. Liam is pleased, because even though Zayn still seems a little reluctant, Liam thinks he could really use what he’s paying Liam for. 

"Where would you like to do it, Zayn?" Liam says. He likes to address the client by their name as often as possible. He finds it makes the entire situation feel less strange, more organic, just a friend coming over to visit. 

"Um," Zayn says. He scratches his beard in a nervous tic so much it’s like he’s got something gnawing at it he’s trying to get off him. "Do you think we could like, just talk for a minute, maybe?" 

"Talking is extra," Liam says, folding up Zayn’s signed contract curtly and placing it back in his bag. 

"Oh," Zayn says, choked up after a stunned silence. His eyes look anywhere but at Liam, hurt flashing in them, and his mouth stays open with nothing coming out of it for a long time. 

Liam feels bad for speaking so bluntly, because Zayn seems like the type of person who doesn’t get the opportunity to talk much, but who’d really like to have someone to talk to. He added the ‘talking is extra’ bit after a client of his called Harry would make appointment after appointment to do nothing but ramble on in deranged, one-sided conversation that often left Liam feeling unclean. He figures if he has to listen to strangers talk while he’s providing an already agreed upon service, he might as well he get paid for providing his listening ears as well. 

He can tell Zayn is one word away from calling the whole thing off. Liam gets his money regardless, but still. He doesn’t want to walk away from here leaving Zayn upset and traumatized by the experience. That’s not the point of what Liam does; he’s supposed to make people feel taken care of. If Zayn is one word away from backing out, Liam better say the right word to bring him back in. 

"Sorry," Liam says. He holds his hand over his heart in sincere apology. Something in his face must show how sorry he is, because Zayn visibly relaxes. "Of course we can talk a bit. First time customer special, on the house." 

Zayn offers him a cup of tea. Liam accepts, standing in Zayn’s small, filthy kitchen as the kettle boils. A frying pan that’s obviously been used to fry a few different things without being washed first rests on top of the hob. A few paint brushes stick out of cups in the sink, and Liam notices empty spray paint cans on the floor by the overflowing bin. Liam’s flat is messy, mostly with Louis and Niall’s things, everything out of its place, but it isn’t dirty like this. This type of mess is the result of being alone all the time and nobody seeing it. Liam wonders if this would happen if he were left alone to care for himself without anyone else to look after him. 

Liam gives Zayn his tea order and they stand awkwardly with their hands around their mugs, next to the fridge as it hums and coughs up ice. He spots a cool-looking canvas, completely black with a neon red and blue little monster type thing painted on it, the paint layered so it looks 3D. 

"So you’re an artist, Zayn?" Liam says. 

"Yeah," Zayn says. "Try to be." 

"You did that one?" Liam says, pointing at the painting. It’s sat on the floor, leaned up against the couch and surrounded by mismatched shoes and dirty mugs. 

"Yeah," Zayn says. He runs his fingers through his hair, blushing, like he’s embarrassed Liam found out his secret. 

"Is that like, a character you do?" Liam says. 

"I mostly do like, self-portraits," Zayn says. "Vain, I know. I don’t really have anything else to like, go on." 

"Oh, is that what’s over here?" Liam says. He walks towards the couch and points at the sketches. Now that he’s looking more closely, he can tell it’s Zayn. Or at least, how Zayn must see himself. The pen lines are deep on the paper, like he was pressing hard when he was drawing it, stabbing the ink onto the page. Zayn’s eyes in all the sketches are hollow and empty, all black, and he’s alone in all of them, emptiness surrounding his images like there was nothing there at all to begin with.

"Yeah," Zayn says, apparently his favorite word. "Do you like them?" His voice goes suddenly quiet and wracked with nerves the closer he and Liam get. Zayn’s arm brushes Liam’s and Zayn tenses like a guitar string. 

This is why Liam doesn’t like to talk. It’s all right if it’s someone who’s a creep or someone dull or someone who’s completely normal otherwise. Those are all things he can handle and forget about the next day. Zayn is the kind of person Liam can’t forget. The gloomy blue of his heart is in every shadow in the room. He’s so lonesome that Liam can understand it in all five senses, so desperate for human kindness but so disbelieving it’ll ever come his way without his having to pay for it. His urgent need for touch is so palpable, his cheek hovering over Liam’s shoulder but not daring to lay his head down on it. Liam has no idea why he’d want to stall any longer. 

"They’re really good," Liam says, his breath caught in his throat. Zayn’s need has bled out into Liam’s skin, something he tries not to let happen. This isn’t for him. He does this for money. He is providing a service. It should be about as personal as a plumber coming over to fix your pipes, and not in the sexy porno way. And yet, he wants to comfort Zayn just as much as Zayn needs to be comforted. 

Liam asks Zayn where his bedroom is. Zayn takes him there, stepping over piles of clothes, kicking things out of the way to make a clearer path for Liam to walk. 

"Can I - " Zayn says. "I know I can’t take my clothes off, but can I take my hat off? I get hot." 

"That’s fine," Liam says. Zayn removes his beanie, revealing an artfully arranged tousle of dark hair. He doesn’t even have hat hair. 

Zayn sits on the bed. Liam sits next to him and waits for Zayn to relax, his shoulders slumping a little and his fingers unclenching on the mattress. Zayn’s eyes are bright, like they capture every beam of light in the entire room and reflect it back. It’s the completely opposite of how he drew himself in his self-portraits. Liam wishes he could tell him. 

"Big spoon or little spoon?" Liam says. They almost always say little. Everyone wants to be held rather than to hold, excluding Liam himself. If he were paying for his services, he’d choose to be the big spoon every time. 

Liam is not naturally an affectionate person. He’s not some cold, dead being who was never shown love growing up or anything; he hugged his mum and his dad all the time. It took him until he was much older to be able to get love, or to be able to ask for love, from people his own age. Even now, his sisters and him still part ways with a hearty punch to the shoulder, except on holidays when their mother yells at them, then it’s an awkward side hug. 

When he first told Niall and Louis he was going into business for himself - an easy job, some fast cash - they laughed in his face for what seemed like hours. 

"You of all people, Payno?" Niall said, wiping tears from his eyes. 

"The only thing I’ve seen you hug is a toilet bowl after a night out," Louis said.

The night ended with them both hugging him incessantly and Liam trying to fend them off like a useless scarecrow being pecked at by hysterical birds. 

The only reason he’s made it as far as he has is thanks to Niall. While Louis shows he cares by throwing hard objects at your face until the love he rubbed on them hits you on the forehead or in the nuts, Niall is easy and effortless. He’s never met a person he hasn’t hugged, which is why his handshake is so weak compared to Liam’s. 

Niall created a series of vigorous training exercises he enthusiastically referred to as HT, or Hug Therapy. Liam had to lie down with him and let himself be held by Niall until he could relax into another person’s arms without tensing up like he was about to be set on fire. Then, they switched places so that Liam could learn how to hold someone. Now Niall handles the financial part of Liam’s business and has given himself the title Hug Pimp. 

"I’m not a prostitute," Liam said. 

"Sure you’re not," Louis said, and he threw a football at Liam’s head and told him to meet him outside. 

Liam’s learned a lot just being with clients, but during those first few months, his friends were what held him together. Now he knows everyone is basically the same. It differs in details from person to person, hands here, pillows there, but what Liam has discovered is that everybody just wants a warm body next to theirs and a steady beating heart to listen to. 

At the beginning, it really was just about making some money. £40 an hour, sometimes with a person asking for several hours, or several people a day asking for an hour each. It all adds up to a lot at the end of the week. Word spread of his services quickly; Niall helped him take out a couple of ads online and it snowballed from there. Liam knows he’s not a firefighter or a doctor or anything like that, but now he truly feels like he’s helping people. A large percentage of his clientele are oddball perverts or people just trying out a new fad they saw on the news. Once in a while, though, he gets someone like Zayn - someone who really needs it, touch-starved and stung for whatever reason. Liam’s read all about premature newborns whose health rapidly accelerates because their mothers held them constantly, and about people who hurt themselves just to feel something. Liam likes to think maybe he helps improve the lives of a select few people just by offering his warm body and steady beating heart for them to cling to, if only for a little while. 

"Little," Zayn says, biting his lip, scratching his beard. 

"Whatever you want," Liam says. 

They lie back on Zayn’s pillows. His bed smells like clean laundry, like this is the only thing he’s cleaned in the entire flat in a million years. Liam wonders if it was because Zayn had him coming over and is touched at the gesture. Zayn turns onto his side and fits his back to Liam’s front easily. Liam wraps his arm around Zayn, his palm resting over Zayn’s wildly thumping heart. 

"Okay, Zayn?" Liam says. 

"Yeah," Zayn says. 

Eventually Zayn’s breathing slows to the point where Liam thinks he’s fallen asleep, until Zayn’s hand comes up to cover Liam’s, both their hands on Zayn’s chest. Liam presses closer now that he knows Zayn is comfortable, his nose brushing Zayn’s hair. The scent of it is tinged with sweat, like he hasn’t showered in a day, but it’s pleasant. 

"This is nice," Zayn says. The low rumble of his voice vibrates on Liam’s fingers where he still hasn’t stopped holding him. "I thought I forgot how to."

"It’s like riding a bike," Liam says. 

Zayn’s laugh feels even better than his speaking voice. Fuck, Liam thinks. He’s enjoying this probably more than Zayn is. It’s not every day he actually gets to feel like he’s doing something important for someone, like he’s actually making a difference in someone’s life. Usually he just feels like the person jerks off as soon as he leaves. Zayn is different. Whatever has been weighing Zayn down seeps out of him and into the bed they’re sharing, until his body is boneless. 

"I’ve never cuddled anyone without having sex with them first," Zayn observes, seemingly to himself. 

Liam tenses for a second, but then forces himself to calm down for Zayn’s sake. He really hopes Zayn isn’t about to breach his contract. He hopes because Liam thinks he’d probably let it slide. The agreement is to keep this nonsexual, but Liam might be open to another agreement for free. Zayn is incredibly attractive, and young, much more attractive and younger than most of the other clients he gets. The sadness in his heart is something Liam can’t take much more of without doing something about it. 

"It can be strange at first," Liam says. "But you get used to one without the other." 

"Yeah," Zayn says. He presses back against Liam impossibly closer, until Liam thinks Zayn will just go right through him. 

Zayn never asks why Liam does this, or how he got into it. Liam doesn’t ask why Zayn wants it, or why he can’t find someone real to give it to him. 

"How much time do I have left?" Zayn mumbles. He maneuvers his arm so he’s fully holding Liam’s hand, their fingers laced. He brings their joined hands up to his mouth. He doesn’t kiss Liam’s hand, just rests it againt his lips, like he’d kiss it if he could but he knows he can’t. His breaths come deep and even. 

Liam forgot to set his timer before they started. He gives a generous guess. “Forty-five minutes.” 

"Fuck," Zayn says softly, his breath puffing out over Liam’s knuckles. "I could fall asleep like this. I haven’t slept more than an hour at a time in forever." 

"Go ahead, Zayn," Liam says. "I’ll wake you when it’s time." 

Zayn is out before Liam even finishes saying it. Liam feels his own eyelids getting heavy. He nods off briefly before shaking himself awake. The tranquil dimness of the room and the soundly sleeping form in his arms lulls him until he gives in and falls asleep too, time be damned. 

~*~ 

When Liam opens his eyes, Zayn is already awake. He’s managed to turn so that Liam’s arm is still tucked tight around him, but they’re now face to face. 

"I think my time is up," Zayn says. 

"It is," Liam says, nodding seriously. "Since technically it’s my fault, I won’t charge you extra." 

"Thanks," Zayn says. He stretches, their fully clothed bodies rubbing together in an obscenely forbidden way even through all the layers between them. "Mm, you’re warm." 

Liam can’t resist; he holds Zayn closer and kisses him. Zayn’s lips part in a surprised ‘oh’ and Liam deepens it, slipping his tongue out to kiss him hard. 

"This goes against your contract," Zayn says with a breathless, disbelieving smile. "I could sue." 

"I’m off the clock," Liam says. He kisses Zayn again because he wants to, and Zayn wants him to, and because they both need it.


End file.
